Beautiful Dead
by Lunar Starling
Summary: Sion escaped, and Darius had a mission to contain the beast before he could kill anyone else. He could have dealt with seeing another dead soldier at his feet. He wasn't so fortunate. Darius/Ezreal death drabble.
1. Beautiful Dead

_**A/N:** So I had a sudden urge to write this from a 'Sion would literally kill Ezreal if they had sex' joke and unfortunately this drabble is nowhere near as fun as that. So I apologize in advance for all this and in honesty I may end up writing a second part to it depending on how guilty I feel about this, so basically if you tell me enough times that I've crossed the line, I will probably write more to correct my shitty mean work. Anyway._

__**Drabble:** Beautiful Dead_  
><em><strong>Word Count:<strong> 2,000_  
><em><strong>Characters:<strong> Darius, Sion (mention), Ezreal_  
><em><strong>Pairings:<strong> one-sided Darius/Ezreal_  
><em><strong>Warnings:<strong> Violence, death, rape implications, necrophilia?__

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><p><em>Clearly an act of sabotage<em>, Darius concluded to himself as he passed by a scattering of dead soldiers. Another day filled with tasks he shouldn't have had to fulfill. There were more important things to be done, but of course something had to go terribly wrong to distract from more necessary work.

Swain had no shortage of enemies, political and personal alike, such was customary of simply being a Noxian, let alone the Grand General. Meddling and revenge were more complex affairs than ever, to the point it seemed it was no longer about damaging your rival's well-being and reputation, but simply to exact the most vile form of vengeance one could dream of. You could say saboteurs had their own twisted little competition among them. It was far from unusual or surprising, of course. You would have to be a shadow of a person to have nobody out to ruin you, and even then there were no guarantees. It was simply a fact of life in Noxus. Darius had endured countless attempts to have his name ruined in his time, and of course Swain had as well.

But in the name of all that was blood and glory, why would anyone think it was a good idea to tamper with Swain's mindless juggernaut?

He didn't question how it happened, how anyone could have unleashed Sion, or how Swain couldn't simply regain control of the beast. It wasn't important, or anything he could likely understand if it had to do with Swain's magic. There was no time for asking questions with the undead one roaming the halls of the citadel, leaving a trail of death in his wake. What mattered was finding Sion and suppressing him before he could cause a significant dent in the number of Swain's forces. Sion would kill anything that stood in his path if given the chance, that he was certain of. Could it even be considered a plan for revenge, or was it simply a mass murder-suicide at that point?

He could hear distant echoes coming from somewhere far down the halls - of screaming, grunting, and guttural moaning. He was drawing ever-nearer to Sion. With a low expiration of breath, Darius adjusted his grip on his axe, careful not to graze an armored corpse with it as he passed them by. The screaming came to a sudden stop - a bestial roar rang out loudly through the halls. A tense silence filled the air. Darius steeled himself for the upcoming encounter as he began to move faster toward the last source of the sound. The slightest quake of the juggernaut's footsteps could be felt passing through the ground; Sion was retreating. Darius growled as he quickened his steps, taking a turn around a corner. The freshest of Sion's victims could be seen up ahead, laying collapsed in a pool of blood, much like the rest of them - and the shape of Sion's shadow, a massive silhouette on the wall beyond. He was about to pass the body by, he looked down for only a moment to judge how high to lift his arm to avoid further damaging them, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

Sentiment wasn't in his nature. The dead were just that - dead. He acknowledged death and he knew one day it would come for him, as well as everyone. That much had never bothered him and never seemed much worth dwelling on. Death was a fact of life - the only mourning he ever did was a moment of recognition and perhaps respect if the claimed life was deserving. But he had expected to see a guardsman, not... A boy. One he'd never seen before, certainly not any soldier or servant of Swain's. Already, he knew the filth of Noxus could never hope to produce such a thing; his features were soft and delicate, lacking in cruelty, in a way that simply couldn't be Noxian. He was beautiful.

Perhaps he'd gone mad, perhaps he had a weakness for beautiful dead boys, perhaps he'd simply discovered sentiment that day - whatever the cause, his heart had been splintered by aching. Darius lowered his axe to the ground carefully and sank to his knees before the small figure, his mission to subdue a monster entirely lost to him. With as much care as he could muster, he reached out and moved the boy's hair away from his face. His locks had been so thoroughly saturated in blood they clung to his forehead, and he couldn't confidently identify the color beneath the red. He felt a deep sadness as he beheld the boy's face in greater clarity, all color drained from it but the sickly purple bruising beneath his eyes and along a broken nose. He could tell Sion had taken his time with this one, but for what cause? His gaze dared to venture lower, over the torn fabric and limbs that had been snapped out of place, a sickness rising up from his stomach into his throat.

_Too beautiful for a cruel world like this one,_ he thought as he continued to examine the damage. He really wasn't one for sentiment or mourning but there he was, indulging in both, _And now you've been taken from it_.

He looked like a doll, really. The kind the richer blood would buy for their precious daughters, with skin smooth and deathly pale like porcelain. That was, of course, if their daughters didn't play well with their toys and broke the limbs out of their sockets. He couldn't entirely determine where his clothes had been made, but if he had to guess, he'd take the small brass pin decorated with the design of clockwork gears to assume it was the fashion of Piltover. He couldn't bring himself to be angry that the citadel's defenses were so easily surpassed by a mere boy, he was too caught up in thinking of how he'd gotten lost in Noxus at the worst possible time.

_He'd hate you_, Darius reminded himself, _A Piltovian could never express gratitude for you, he would hate you,_ and yet he found himself cradling the mangled, bloody body in his arms as he lifted it from the ground. _He isn't alive to even hate you._

A frown settled deep into Darius' features as he carried the broken figure through the black halls of the fortress. His legs moved slowly along, and he felt deafened, though he could only hear the steady, metallic shifting of his armor. He gazed down to the boy's face and all he could see was the pain of everyone who ever knew the boy, having a piece of their heart ripped from them when they realized their friend, family, would never return to them. He'd seen the faces of mothers whose children had been taken from them by war - but that was common, even expected in Noxus. The people of Piltover knew nothing of war, of sacrificing their children to the blade. It would hurt them all the more to have a loved one taken from them so young. Maybe for that reason, he felt the need to put the boy to rest.

He paid no mind to the countless eyes that held him in confused and startled gazes as he carried the young one through the streets. There would be talk of his actions, boundless speculation and rumors of the most personal nature. He would endure it, for the sake of one whose name he didn't even know, yet his very spirit wept for. His steps took him halfway down the mountain, and through the streets to a more or less abandoned part of the city. To a temple older than any who currently lived in the city, a former place of worship to the moon and stars, forgotten long before the people of Noxus abandoned entertaining the thought of higher powers. He'd heard that since then it had been occupied by criminals and cultists alike, whatever holy ground housed within the walls desecrated a thousand times over. It would suffice. He had no other option.

Darius stepped over the rubble of a doorway and into the stone-walled temple, light trickling in from shattered windows. He looked around and walked through the temple, finding his way to a door near the back. There was once a time that he took shelter in these walls with his brother, and his memory for the place was still sharp. If he went through the side hall, into the back of the temple, he'd find another room. A ritual chamber.

**_As long as the heavenly black of night is broken by the light of the moon,_**

**_so too shall this sacred water flow_**

A statement carved into the stone above a rectangular pool of a bath, that he remembered from his youth. He simply hadn't expected there to still be water in it. Perhaps whatever gods that were among them hadn't yet completely abandoned Runeterra, simply slipped into the shadows to be forgotten when their time passed. Darius shook his head slightly - he wasn't one to believe too fiercely in pretty concepts with no proof. He looked around with some struggle, the light from the hole in the roof didn't seem quite sufficient. Darius sighed softly and laid the body in his arms down carefully next to the bath and began to search the room. There were a few candelabras in there, still lined with a few candles, perhaps he would be lucky enough to find matches. Just his luck - a bit of shifting and he found a box of matches and material to strike them with. He went about lighting up the room silently - spared no expense, lit every candle that still sat in a holder, and soon the room was surprisingly well-lit with the warm glow of many tiny flames. As he put out his match, he caught sight of something shining in the corner, and he approached it. White silk, he determined as he picked it up. A robe. He looked over at the boy and approached him again, bringing the garment with him. A feeling of sadness came over him as he dressed the boy, having to acknowledge each broken limb as he moved it with care. The warmth was fading from his body already. Darius took a moment to behold him. He couldn't confidently determine what exactly had killed him, though he had reason to believe his head had been cracked open. With a mournful sigh he reached up to his own shoulders and took the cape from his back, draping it over the small figure before lifting it again. He carried the boy to the bath and descended into it slowly. He lowered the body into the water gently and stared at him for a moment longer.

"I never knew you," Darius spoke suddenly, "And I never will," He said with regret. "I could have saved you," He stated, frowning deeply. The water was steadily turning pink, and if he didn't know any better, he'd think the dye in his cape was running out in the water. Blonde hair, he realized as the blood loosened from the boy's locks. "I'm sorry," He concluded, at a loss for words. He didn't know how else to honor the boy and his memory - he had no memories of him to honor. He leaned down and cupped the boy's cheek as he planted a delicate kiss on his forehead. "Forgive me," He pleaded as he turned and stepped out of the bath.

He couldn't bring himself to leave. He sat upon the temple floor and dwelled in his regret until he fell asleep there, his only company found in the beautiful dead.


	2. Love Awakened

_**A/N:** I finally figured out how to start off the second part of this, and then I unfortunately got the idea for a third part if I can manage to eventually scrape that together. I hope it's enjoyable._

_**Part Two:** Love Awakened  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 2,300  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Darius, Ezreal  
><strong>Pairings:<strong> Darius/Ezreal fluff  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> None_

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><p>There stirred something titanic and terrible, far beyond the reaches of Runeterra - a skyquake that shook the stars and the darkness that flooded the infinite reaches of space. On the planet it was felt only as a quiver of magic; a harmless fluctuation in the arcane tides that flowed throughout the world. Despite how harmless it seemed, it was a sign of something monumental. An ancient force of the universe had been torn from what should have been an eternal slumber, woken by an impossible sorrow, a paradox so powerful it could touch the gods.<p>

The stars once had a name, a collective consciousness known to the people of Runeterra as a force beyond the narrow scope of mortal comprehension. They were a force long gone, and even longer forgotten - a god of black skies, destined from before the dawn of time to fade into the same oblivion they created. At first there was anger, disgust that a mortal dared gather up the arrogance to wake them; and then there was curiosity. They searched long and far throughout their reaches, gazing over a thousand planets - habited and uninhabited alike - in search of the sorrow that had disturbed their comatose state.

It wasn't long before their gaze fell upon the war-ridden world of Runeterra, wherein grew the sorrow. They swept out across the surface in a quest to pinpoint the origin of the paradox that had captured their interest, their thousand gazes eventually converging at a single point. An old temple of worship to them, oddly appropriate for the situation. Within they saw two mortals, one dead, and the other gripped by grief. Struck by curiosity, they searched the living one's spirit, becoming intimately familiar with the structure of his heart and mind in an instant. He was a survivor of a cruel world who sought change, using his experience to remind himself of his goals. A man of action; a calculating and quiet nature masked by brutal, bloody methods. Easily mistaken for a mindless brute - and he liked it that way. One who considered tenderness and sentiment an obstacle, who denied himself the pleasure of emotion to avoid the distraction that accompanied it. Yet his heart was plagued with an aching he couldn't suffocate, all for the dead boy who laid mere feet away from him.

One human life was worth so little in the eyes of a god, and yet the loss of one had brought torment to a heart that refused to feel. Within they saw regret. A belief that the life lost could have shifted the fate of the world, that the boy was too pure to ever deserve to have met with such a cruel end. Death was something the man had seen ever since childhood, and yet this one truly, deeply disturbed him, against all reasoning. Something softened within the limitless consciousness of the forgotten god, the human sorrow infectious and painful. They reached out with a tendril of their existence, breathing the very blood of the stars into the tiny human, to bring his soul back to his body.

Ezreal blinked slowly, his breaths slightly ragged as he rose from a pool of some sort of pink liquid. A foreign spirit resounded in his head, speaking strictly in a feeling, a concept he understood completely, somehow, without a single word being relayed to him. Immense pain had been centered around the thought of him, enough to cause the very stars to pity him. All he remembered before then was the ground shaking beneath him, a shadow that hung over him, terrible pain, the feeling of being torn apart from the inside. His own screaming, so loud it deafened him, was the last thing he heard before...

He died.

He realized quickly that he stood in a mixture of blood, _his blood_, and water. Ezreal frowned, troubled as he slowly unwrapped himself from a red curtain - no, a cape - that had somehow ended up as clothing for him. He saw the same faint stains of blood on the white robes he wore, his entire ensemble was dripping with chimes of water, leaving him shivering cold. As his eyes adjusted to the dark that surrounded him, he could make out a figure that sat slumped on the floor, causing him to furrow his brow.

"Hey," Ezreal called out quietly, his voice a bit weak. He wasn't sure where exactly he was, but he knew there was a large possibility that he was still in Noxus, and that made him a bit nervous to be striking up a conversation with some stranger.

Darius lifted his head slightly, opening his eyes for a brief moment to stare up at the temple wall. He could have sworn he'd heard a voice, the sound of water shifting against itself, but._.. No._ Wishful thinking turned into a hallucination, that was all it could be. A soft sigh expired from his lips, still at a loss for what to do. He didn't want to move. He didn't want to return to his responsibilities as a general. For once, he didn't trust his body to carry him home after the horrors he'd witnessed that day.

"Hello?" Ezreal called out again, stepping out of the bath slowly, his robe dragging heavy and wet on the floor behind him as he took another step forward. The slumped figure looked up again, turning his head slightly to the source of sound. There was a moment of stillness and hesitation between the both of them, and then the man stood, turning to face Ezreal with his expression a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and amazement. Ezreal gazed up at the man who easily towered over him in height, a bit apprehensive to act. This man was Noxian, that much he knew at a glance, but this was - he assumed - the same man who'd saved his life. "Where are we?" Ezreal asked quietly, as the man continued to stare down at him, looking over his body as if in search of some sort of imperfection. The man opened his mouth to speak, but no sound emerged for a moment. He kept staring.

"A temple," the man answered, his voice a bit gruff and growling even at a quiet volume, "in Noxus," he clarified. Ezreal swallowed, afraid to ask any more questions to a man who looked like he could easily break his spine - but something told him this wasn't the hulking monster who'd found him in the dark and killed him. Something in his heart was working tirelessly to persuade him that he was safe with this man, Noxian or not. "Never return here," the man ordered, letting out a soft, strained breath as he turned away, "you've learned firsthand why you're taught to fear Noxus," he spoke up, the raspy quality of his voice more prominent as he raised his voice.

"Did you save me?" Ezreal questioned, seeming to ignore the warning. Darius hesitated to answer - he couldn't say he'd 'saved' the boy, that wasn't right. If he would have saved him, he wouldn't have died in the first place.

"No," Darius replied, leading the Piltovian out into the main hall of the temple, "I found you dead," he stated, still not entirely convinced that he wasn't the victim of a complex, cruel illusion.

"And you're not at all amazed by the fact that somehow I'm alive again?" The boy questioned as he followed behind.

"No," Darius said, "because you're not," he said, unwilling to allow himself to believe for even a moment. He stopped and turned to face the younger, his face illuminated by the moonlight. He was only more beautiful in life, unfortunately - he couldn't help but adore the rosy colour of his lips and cheeks, and the golden hue of his skin. The blonde stared up at him with what he knew was fear, as if he'd been faced by a monster, causing his admiration to sink away into a reminder of who he was and why the boy could never return his quickly blooming desire.

"You're..." the boy began to speak, the words caught in his throat. Darius frowned just slightly, his expression softening - even if this was more than a bittersweet dream, he couldn't expect gratitude.

"Go home," Darius ordered, though it sounded more like a plea to his own ears. The Piltovian shook his head, refusing.

"Why did you bring me here?" he asked - inquisitive boy, he figured, needed to know absolutely everything he wanted or he wouldn't be satisfied.

"Pity," Darius lied, causing the boy to tilt his head slightly to the side.

"I don't buy that," he said, staring up at him like he was trying to decipher him. A foreign sensation resonated in his chest, he assumed it was a matter of magic.

"What do you want me to tell you?" Darius questioned, annoyed and troubled by the boy's insistence, "that I wept for you? That your death disturbed me, that I wasn't strong enough to simply accept your fate and move on?" he asked, his voice growing louder and for once impassioned, "that my heart was moved for you?" he closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. He felt pathetic and weak, spilling words and emotions without thought. Slowly, he sank to his knees, still not quite ready to move on, "you didn't deserve the fate you met with. I couldn't..."

"Hey," the blonde said quietly, "it's fine. I'm fine, look," Darius opened his eyes to see the boy staring down at him and smiling slightly. He closed his eyes again with a sigh.

"You wouldn't understand," he muttered. He looked up, startled as he felt a hand in his hair, and something unknown suppressed the instinct to try to defend himself against the advance. He felt his head being held to the boy's chest, and he relaxed into the embrace, slowly raising his arms to circle them around the small figure.

"I do," the boy said, "really, I get it," Darius closed his eyes, pulling the Piltovian closer as he listened to the heart that beat again, somehow. "I didn't really expect a Noxian to be so... Caring," the blonde said, a bit surprised by the display of affection. This was an indulgence he didn't know he needed, to allow himself peace and the comfort of another person.

"Darius," he stated quietly, "my name," he added, letting out a soft breath as he relaxed just a little into the lithe arms that encircled him.

"I know," the younger said, "I've heard all about you. Saw your face in a book once," he explained. "I'm Ezreal, I'm from-"

"Piltover," Darius completed. "If you know who I am, why are you doing this?" he asked, unsure of how a boy raised in the safety of Piltover, who knew of his history, could ever feel safe enough around him to try to comfort him.

"I don't know," Ezreal admitted, shrugging slightly, "I was told that you'd kill me if you ever met me, and a hundred other horrible things. And I believed all that for a long time," he explained, pulling away as Darius loosened his grip. He looked over Darius again, and the same warmth began to spread throughout his chest, "I thought you were a monster," the Piltovian said, "but... I saw a real monster today. And it wasn't you," Ezreal concluded, "I was wrong about you". Darius looked up at Ezreal and managed to bring himself to his feet again.

"If you leave now, and promise never to return, I won't take you in for trespassing," Darius offered in a quiet voice, knowing he shouldn't continue on with whatever tender conversation they were having. "Since I doubt you're a threat to Noxus," he stated simply. Ezreal let out a small snort of a laugh and smiled as he rose to a stand.

"No promises," he said, amused. "I'm an explorer. Sort of a relic hunter, too. Getting into stuff I shouldn't is kinda what I do," Ezreal shrugged. Darius sighed, knowing he couldn't persuade the boy into a less dangerous lifestyle. Decades spent with a stubborn, arrogant brother taught him better than to make demands of the young and carefree - they tended to refuse to listen.

"Then tell me when you're here," Darius requested, "I can keep Swain's less understanding troops from finding you. Avoid a repeat of what happened today,"

"And how am I going to find you?" Ezreal questioned curiously. Darius looked over Ezreal quickly, but carefully.

"A mage, aren't you?" Darius asked, "I'm sure you can find a way," he said as he turned away again. He could hear Ezreal's footsteps light on the stone floor behind him.

"Hey, wait," Ezreal called out, "isn't this yours?" he asked as he walked along at Darius' side, holding his cape out. Darius glanced at Ezreal for a moment and shook his head.

"Keep it," Darius said simply.

"And I need some clothes that aren't soaked or... Torn up," the Piltovian added as he glanced down at the tattered remnants of his clothes that showed through his robe. Darius let out a quiet sigh.

"Just come with me," he suggested as he guided Ezreal out of the temple, "you can stay with me until you're ready to leave". Ezreal looked up at Darius, a bit startled by the extension of such an offer.

"Really?" Ezreal asked, bewildered. Darius gave a small nod as his only response. Ezreal smiled, "thanks, Darius," he said, "for everything".


End file.
